


All the Memories that We Make Will Never Change

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Disco, F/M, Growing Old Together, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Oh don't you wonder when the light begins to fade? / And the clock just makes the colors turn to grey / Forever younger growing older just the same / All the memories that we make will never change (Henry and Lucy find some polaroids of a long-lost night, of a couple in the throes of young love. / Emma and Killian meet in a nightclub, and their lives will never be the same.)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 95
Collections: CS January Joy, SpartanGuard's Captain Swan Playlist





	All the Memories that We Make Will Never Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CS January Joy 2020 | Inspired by "Golden Days" by Panic! At The Disco

**2020**

“Hey, Dad? What are these?”

Henry looked up from the bin of records he was sorting through in the musty basement, over at where his daughter was doing the same. Or had been; Lucy’s attention was less on the old albums in front of her and instead focused on what she’d apparently found within them.

“Seriously? You don’t know what a Polaroid looks like?” he teased as he set down  _ Aladdin Sane _ and stepped over. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

She huffed. “No duh, I know what they are. You only played ‘Hey Ya’ a million times when I was little.” Okay, maybe he was the one failing if that was her only frame of reference on instant photos. “But look!”

She shoved the stack of pictures into his hands, and once he got a look at the one on top, it was like being jolted into the past.

Frozen in time was a couple clearly in the throes of young love; it was obvious from the way they only had eyes for each other, though the background suggested they were at a club (a disco, maybe?). The date on the corner said August 1979, but the woman’s Farrah Fawcett curls and strapless jumpsuit, paired with the man’s wide-open, chest-baring top and perfectly coiffed hair, did a good job of telling him the era on their own.

He glanced over the next few pictures behind it: all similar, and a good number with part of an arm in the shot; a vintage selfie. He suspected a number of couples nowadays had similar sets of photos on their phones. (He knew he and Ella did.) 

But as curious as he was to continue skimming, he couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding—there was something intimate about these images that modern digital photography couldn’t match.

\------------------------

**1979**

Killian nursed his rum probably a bit more clinically than he needed to. While it had been his favored vice not too long ago, he was trying to put those days behind him. But his friends insisted he still needed to get out and “have fun,” whatever that meant anymore. At least they were—he could see Jasmine and Al twirling their way across the illuminated dance floor from his seat at the bar. 

The deejay played decent music, he’d give it that. But drinking and dancing were in his past, he was sure. 

Until he spotted an angel on the other side of the club, and wondered if maybe he’d been too hasty in writing off this outing. 

Her likeness to a celestial being had minimal to do with the style of her hair, even if it was clearly modeled after one made popular on a certain ridiculous television program. No, it was the way she moved freely and joyfully in her red, fitted jumpsuit; the joy as she threw her head back in laughter at something one of her companions said; and her easy smile as she danced, full of a youthful exuberance that Killian was pretty sure he’d never had; he’d done a lot of living in his 25 years. 

He didn’t typically even go for blondes, but before he knew it, he’d downed the rest of his drink, hopped off the bar stool, and started to pick his way across the dance floor. He checked himself over as he maneuvered around moving bodies, briefly debating if he needed to do up another button on his paisley shirt or rather undo another, and then realized: he had no idea what to say. 

He froze feet away from her. Just what was he doing?

Then someone bumped into him, making him stumble forward—almost into her arms. Which might have been better than the sharp way his chest collided with her shoulder, sending her reeling into the brunette next to her.

“Hey, man—watch out!” the other woman shouted as she set her friend to rights.

“Apologies; I meant no...harm…” he tried to explain, trailing off when he saw Jasmine from the corner of his eye, giving him a sheepish grin as they danced away. He should have seen that coming, really.

“It’s fine,” the blonde sighed, annoyed, and Killian felt his chance slipping away faster than the overall sobriety level in the club.

But then she turned to him, and there was concern in her big green eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, yeah,” he said, then quickly added, “but I’d be better if you danced with me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wry look. “Oh yeah? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

“That’s because you haven’t met me yet.” He had no idea where this swagger was coming from, but he didn’t want to think too hard about it, lest it disappear. “Name’s Killian.”

“Hi, Killian,” she said, offering a hand. “I’m Emma.”

He took her dainty hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back while holding her gaze—which, if he was being honest, seemed as much confused as it did flattered.

“What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor?”

She bit her glossed lip and looked back to her friend, who was giving her a wolfish grin in return and promptly shooed her away. “Okay,” she shrugged with a smile when she turned back to him.

He grinned back, partly in relief but mostly that he hadn’t been shot down. It was a boost to his confidence he didn’t realize he’d needed—and it just might have broken his freshly healed heart if she’d said no. 

He led her a step or two away from her friend, so they could have a bit of space, and placed his blunted wrist on her hip. She glanced down at it and he froze; he was finally starting to get comfortable with his lack of appendage there, but most people still acted squeamish about it.

To his surprise, though, she didn’t seem to take much note of it and found his eyes again. If anything, she moved closer, and they wordlessly started to sway to the pounding rhythm—or, at least, their hips began to shift in time with the music and each other, and really, that was all that was needed.

Their feet eventually got the message, picked up the beat, and began to carry them around the floor. Killian found himself falling into some ancient habits he wasn’t aware were still in his muscle’s memory, and his heart skipped a bit as he watched an amused smile take over Emma’s face. 

“You sure are a swell dancer,” she told him. “How’d you learn to dance like this?”

“It’s simple, really; there’s only one rule,” he replied, then leaned in closer. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She grinned and looked down, but if she was trying to avoid letting him know her thoughts on the matter, she failed—even in the orange light, he could see the blush on her cheeks.

For a moment, he worried he might have come on too strong and she’d push away, but quite the opposite happened: she moved even impossibly closer, sliding her hand down to his waist to pull herself to him. The pinpricks of light from the disco ball danced over them like stars, illuminating the glitter on her collarbones and cheeks; goodness, were they in a dance hall or a fairy tale?

The bodies and music around them began to fade away as his focus narrowed on Emma: on the soft pout of her lips, the easy smile that played at them, the feel of her body against his…

And then the rest of the club came back into startling clarity as the music abruptly changed, loud horns signifying the beginning of an overplayed and overhyped Village People tune.

“Oh god, I hate this song,” Emma cursed, equally jarred by the change, it seemed. But she hadn’t made a move away from him.

“Agreed,” he replied; but if she didn’t want to dance, he needed another way to stay close to her. “Can, uh...can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure!”

He wasn’t expecting her enthusiasm, and the wide-eyed look she gave him after suggested she wasn’t expecting it either. He chuckled, but squeezed her hand and led her back to the bar.

They found an open spot near the end and the bartender was quick; Emma ordered red wine, and Killian said “Make it two.” The bartender glanced between them, then grabbed a couple glasses and set a bottle down in front of them, with the direction to have fun.

“Well, he was awfully presumptuous,” Killian said, again not wanting to come on too strong. 

Emma just shrugged, though, and popped the cork. “He didn’t say what kind of fun.” Her tone was laced with innuendo, though, as she poured their glasses. “For example, we can have fun with this,” she continued, offering her glass up for a toast; he took his and clinked it with hers before taking a sip (not the best he’d had, but not the worst). “Orrrr, with this!” she exclaimed, reaching around him for something on the bar.

She produced a Polaroid camera, looking proud as punch with her prize. “Is that yours?” he asked.

“Nope,” she answered, popping the ‘p’. “It was just sitting here.”

It was a good thing he was staring at her in dazed admiration, because the next thing he saw was the bright light of the flash temporarily blinding him. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, blinking. “Warn a man next time!”

“Oh, but candid shots are always best,” she teased, pulling out the picture and shaking it. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Oh really?” He wasted no time in setting down his drink and taking the camera from her, relying on speed for shock, and quickly snapped a pic, too. “That should be a good one, then.”

“Asshole,” she tried to complain, but her smirk gave her away. “That’s gonna be terrible.”

“Impossible,” he countered, “when the subject is so lovely.”

She was leaning on the bar, rolling her eyes, so he stepped closer and mirrored her pose. “You’re full of it,” she laughed.

“I’m actually quite shy and reserved.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he conceded, and snapped another picture with his outstretched arm.

“Oh my god, you—!” Whatever she was about to say was lost in the struggle of her wrestling the camera back from him; he let her take it, especially when her chest brushed against his in the friendly scuffle. She yanked out the photo and put it on the bar with the others, shaking her head. “You’re wasting film, you know.”

“I highly doubt that.” She hadn’t made any effort to leave his personal space yet again.

“Besides, there are so many better things to take pictures of.”

“Also not true.”

“I’m just saying—why would you bother with pictures like that, when you could take ones like this?” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Like what?”

She answered by grabbing the lapel of his vest and hauling his lips to hers. She pressed herself against his entire upper body as her mouth claimed his, and he was quick to surrender to her passionate kiss. He heard the flash bulb go off as she likely took another snap, but he was too lost in her to care much. He wrapped his left arm around her to hold her close while the other found her waist and anchored himself to her. 

They eventually broke apart for a breather, but he continued to pepper kisses down her chin and neck, and he could feel her fingers toying with his chest hair. Another flash bulb. 

“You don’t work for  _ Playgirl  _ or something, do you?” he breathed.

“No,” she giggled. “Just liking what I see; and I don’t want to forget it.”

“Nor do I.”

They resumed kissing for a moment, Emma going so far as to wrap a leg around him and bring her core to where he was obviously wanting her—which only seemed to egg her on, and he had no reservations in palming her pert rear end through her jumpsuit.

“Do you live nearby?” she asked on their next breath.

“Aye,” he nodded; he could hardly remember where, he was so intoxicated by her, but at least knew that much.

“Do you want to go back?”

“Only if you do.”

“I definitely do.”

“Alright then.”

She gave him another kiss on the cheek, then asked him to sit tight as she let her friends know. He quickly downed the rest of his glass, threw some cash down to pay the tab (probably not the right amount but he hardly cared), then gathered up the pictures they’d taken from where they landed scattered across the bar.

He didn’t know what lay ahead, but something told me he’d want something to help him remember this night.

\-------------------------------

**2020**

“What are they wearing?” Lucy giggled. “That shirt is so ugly!”

Henry chuckled. “That was just the style back then; he actually would have been considered pretty debonair and suave at the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

They continued to flip through the photos. “Say what you will, but she seems pretty into it,” he lectured; not like he had much room to talk—he had no idea how he’d managed to catch Ella’s eye with the kind of stuff they wore in the late 90s. (There was definitely a bonfire fueled by a pair of JNCO jeans and ratty plaid shirts in his past.)

The background of the photos changed as the pair moved out of the club and onto the street—one he immediately recognized. It changed again to a dock, with ships bobbing behind the pair.

“Is that…?” Lucy asked when the couple apparently boarded one of them.

“Yeah, looks like it is,” Henry had to agree; he knew exactly where they were. 

And the next couple of pictures told him exactly what they were doing. (He made a point to keep those away from Lucy’s view.)

\-------------------------------------

**1979**

Emma still couldn’t believe she’d proposed this. She had a kid; what was she doing out on the town, following a guy she’d just met back to his place? 

(Ruby, that’s what—she could never say no to her best friend, especially when said friend’s granny was providing free babysitting and said friend had also told her to “do him before I do”.) She pulled up the top of her strapless (borrowed) jumpsuit, amazed that it had stayed on this long, and took in a deep breath of the refreshing air outside the club.

“That’s much better,” Killian said, and then Emma registered the pop of the flashbulb behind her closed eyes.

“You’re gonna make me regret picking that thing up,” she teased. “And I wasn’t gonna steal it!”

“Too late,” he shrugged. Even in the yellow light of the street lamps, she could see the mischief sparkling in his blue eyes and hiding in the dimples that cut into his scruffy beard. He didn’t seem like he was too much older than her, but he’d clearly been through a lot. Which was good, since she had, too.

“Are you just gonna be the paparazzi or are we going to go somewhere more fun?” she asked, pressing herself into his space—partly because she liked the kind of shocked look he got on his face when she did, and partly because she just wanted to be close to him and his impressive display of chest hair.

“I’d be more than happy to escort the lady to a more comfortable location,” he said, making her swoon; god, she never did that. She almost lost focus in stealing the camera back, but managed to before he could fight it. 

“Lead the way,” she whispered.

He just swallowed and nodded, then took her hand and led her down the sidewalk.

The air cooled as they went and she could smell the salt of the harbor as they got closer to the docks; not a long walk, but not too short that they couldn’t get to know each other a bit. His last name was Jones; he was 25; he’d enlisted in the Army right out of high school and served a few years in Vietnam, until he lost his hand. “I didn’t want to fight, but I didn’t really have any other options. My brother died over there, so I guess I thought I’d avenge him, or something,” he admitted. “Not my best idea.”

She knew all about that. After all, she was 21 years old and already a mother to a 3-year-old; she clearly had no room to judge. He took it in stride, though, and was quick to ask about her kid; it was actually refreshing not to have someone do the math in their head and start scowling. “It’s been hard, but he’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me,” she told him, establishing some boundaries.

“Well, you strike me as a tough lass, Swan,” he replied; she was beginning to love the sound of her last name on his tongue. “It sounds like you two are doing just fine.”

She hid her blush by taking a picture of his encouraging smile, which quickly turned into a sputter.

He stole back the camera—and her breath—with a kiss after that.

She returned the favor, pressing him against a fence at the marina—but not too forcefully; she didn’t feel like swimming tonight.

“Hopefully you’re alright with sailing, though,” he murmured, guiding her down one of the docks.

“You live on a boat?”

“Please—it’s a ship.”

Whatever it was, it was gorgeous—all hardwood and classic-looking. The sails were tucked away but she had to imagine it looked impressive out at sea, and the idea of Killian at the helm, sun tanning his skin as the wind whipped them along...damn, what an image.

(Okay, maybe Ruby had been right earlier when she said Emma needed to get laid.)

He casually stepped onto the ship, unphased by the way the deck shifted under him, and extended a hand to her to help her down. Her platform sandals were absolutely not the right shoes for this, so she nearly stumbled as she stepped aboard—right into his (strong, sturdy) arms. 

“It’s about bloody time,” he purred.

“Like I haven’t been over you all night,” she countered (and made sure not to bring up the body glitter that had found its way into his chest hair).

“No, but it’s nice to finally be alone.”

“It is.” Without another word, they picked up where they’d left off in the club: hands wandering, lips tasting, bodies not able to get close enough—but she didn’t have enough balance on the rolling deck to try to hitch her leg around him again. 

“You got a bed on this thing?” she panted.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A minute later, they were below deck, in a cozy cabin. Two minutes later, he’d undone the zipper on her jumpsuit, letting it fall around her ankles. Three, and she’d opened his way-too-many buttons to reveal his frankly stunning array of chest hair and was quickly discovering how far south it went. (Answer: all the way.)

The bed wasn’t exactly large, or solid, but anything would do once he got her worked up, his fingers dancing over her breasts, overheated skin, and aching sex. 

He hovered over her after he got the condom on, clearly nervous even though they were both stark naked and had been dry humping for who-knew-how-long.

She drew her bare heel up over his firm thigh and pert ass, then pressed against it, bringing his hard length almost to where she wanted—no, needed it. “Please,” she panted, not sure what else to say. 

“As you wish.”

That took her by surprise—she wanted to ask if he’d read her favorite book,  _ The Princess Bride _ —but then he was pressing into her and anything she could say came out as a gasp. Holy shit, did he feel good.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said in a strained voice; fuck, she’d said that out loud.

“You should,” she answered. “And if you want another—move.” She punctuated the command by pressing her other heel into him.

As eager as she was, she wasn’t ready for the feel of him dragging along her inner walls, then pressing back forward; it really had been too long since she’d done anything like this with another person. But she got the impression Killian was in a similar boat (pun not intended).

That didn’t stop him from being “fucking amazing,” she sighed.

“You...too…” he grunted as he pressed. She did all she could to keep up and match him thrust for thrust, but all too soon, she was gripping his broad shoulders for dear life.

It was like riding a roller coaster: she was climbing, climbing, climbing, and then she was free falling with a shout as her orgasm peaked and carried her away with it. He wasn’t far behind, coming with a shout of her name and eventually collapsing beside her. It made the whole bed shake but honestly, it was no worse than what they’d just put it through.

Once they both caught their breath, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and then got up to clean things, but was back faster than she expected he’d be, flopping down next to her.

“Bloody hell, love; that…”

For someone as seemingly verbose as he was, having him speechless was definitely a boost to her ego. “Incredible? Fantastic? Far out? Groovy?”

“I’d never dream of putting something like that so colloquially,” he answered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “But perhaps we need to give it another go so I can properly describe it.”

“Mm, I think I’d be down with that,” she said, smiling. Normally, she’d be headed for the door already—but there was just something about Killian that made her want to stay, and it wasn’t just the mindblowing sex.

“Good.” He pounced on her lips again, and round two was just as fabulous as the first. (So was the third.)

And a few hours later, she woke in his arms to the obnoxious sound of an alarm clock blaring. But he just gripped her tighter from behind and buried his head in her neck, tickling her with his beard. 

“You gonna get that?” she asked, both annoyed and still sleepy.

“Ugh, I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I need to get ready for work and you’ll have to go.”

She turned in his arms and placed her hands on his hair-covered pecs. “What if I came back sometime?”

He gave her a sleepy smile. “I’d like that very much.”

“Me too.”

He finally shut off the clock and stretched; she had to avert her eyes, or staring at the way his trim muscles moved under his skin would make him even later. And the sooner she got home to her kid, the better.

Somehow, she managed to get dressed again, pointedly ignoring the heat of his fingers on her back as he zipped her outfit. (It was less easy for him to hide his arousal when she buttoned up his work shirt.)

The morning was chilly when they got back up on the deck and the sun was just starting to rise over the horizon; she shivered immediately. “Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed, then ran back below deck, returning with a blanket. “Here, love; I’d be a shameful host if I let you catch a cold. Do you need me to call you a cab?” he asked as he wrapped it around her shawl-like.

“No; I’m only a few blocks away,” she answered, pulling the blanket tight. It was soft and smelled like him. Hopefully, he didn’t want it back.

“Can I walk you home, then?”

“Won’t you be late?”

His reply was a shrug.

“Alright then.”

She started to head to the edge of the ship to disembark, but then he said, “Wait.” She turned to see what the holdup was and only saw the light of the flashbulb again. 

“Seriously?” she laughed.

“Yes, completely,” he answered through his own chuckle. 

“You’re such a nerd,” she tossed back, but god, was he adorable. If she wasn’t careful, she was probably going to fall in love with him. 

But honestly, would that really be so bad?

\---------------------------------------------

**2020**

The last photo was of the blonde woman in early morning light, wrapped in a blanket with a lazy smile on her face. It was obvious what they’d been up to, but that was a different kind of happy expression—more than just physical bliss.

“God, she was so beautiful,” Lucy breathed.

She always had been. “And she still is,” Henry added; Lucy hummed in agreement.

Reaching the end of the stack, they set the photos aside and kept browsing the records, pulling some out here and there as they caught their eyes. A bit later, armed with  _ Goodbye Yellow Brick Road _ ,  _ Damn the Torpedoes _ , and  _ A Night at the Opera _ , they headed upstairs with their prizes—Henry making sure to grab the stack of Polaroids.

“You’re done already?” Henry’s mom called out from the kitchen, where she and his dad (well, stepdad, but he’d raised him) were busying themselves.

“Yeah! We found some great stuff, Grandma!” Lucy shouted, running down the hall and promptly gushing over her new treasures. 

His mom had been reading at the table, but she put down her magazine when Lucy barged in. Henry hung back for a moment, though.

The smile on her face was the same one in the photos, even if Emma’s hair was more gray than blonde now and she needed glasses. It was a little jarring, to be honest; growing up, he didn’t notice it as much, but looking at her as she was when he was a kid and comparing it to now made him realize just how much she’d changed in the last 40 years. But the grin she sent his way as Lucy babbled hadn’t at all.

“What have you got there, darling?” his dad interjected, stepping away from the stove to inspect the collection of albums. Killian, too, was all silver now, but for a man in his sixties, was in damn fine shape; Henry only hoped he’d look that good when he hit that age. The crows feet around Killian’s eyes had deepened with time (and laughter, and smiles), but they were still the same bright blue behind his bifocals and he still wore the same scruffy smirk.

Emma threw a concerned look Henry’s way, which told him he’d spent far too long staring. “Everything okay, kid?” she asked when he joined them.

“Yeah, yeah; it’s great. But uh, we found something else, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

He pulled the photos out of his jeans pocket and set them down on the table in front of his mom; Killian peered over her shoulder to inspect. They both hitched their breath at the same moment.

“Oh my god, I forgot about these!” Emma exclaimed as she picked them up.

“Same,” Killian said, almost breathlessly. “But I haven’t forgotten that night,” he quickly added, pressing a kiss to Emma’s temple.

“I’d be worried if you had,” she said. “This was our first date,” she explained to Henry and Lucy, “and someone here thought it’d be a good idea to steal a camera from the club we met at.”

“Pardon me, but you started it, love.”

Emma snorted and smacked his prosthetic hook where it rested on her shoulder, but a nostalgic kind of look came over both of them as they looked them over.

“Good find, Lucy,” Killian said, pulling his granddaughter close and kissing her cheek.

Emma set the photos aside and Killian went back to cooking dinner (which was delicious, as always). The flashback the photos had given him made Henry want to stay later and reminisce—on their wedding, on weekend trips on the Jolly Roger, on that one time he and his sisters tried (and failed) to throw a kegger in the backyard—but it was a school night and Lucy had homework.

He kept coming back to one thing, though, especially as they said their goodbyes and headed home: the way his dad looked at his mom in 1979 was the same way he did in 2020. Henry had always been happy that, despite their rough starts, his parents had managed to find each other; he couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of the kind of true love they had. And they made sure that their children knew and saw that same kind of love every day; if only everyone could be that lucky.

(Thankfully, Henry was; when he greeted Ella at home that night, he knew he still looked at her the way he first had in 1998, and she still smiled at him the same way she did that night from across that party. Henry had known then what true love looked like, and what it looked like now, and what it would look like in 20 years. And he couldn't wait.)

\----------------------------

After Henry and Lucy left and dinner was cleaned up, Emma got out the pictures they’d found again; hazy memories were coming back into sharp clarity in her mind (though some had never really dulled). 

“You’ve got that look in your eyes, Swan. What are you thinking?” Killian said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Swan? Pretty sure I’ve been Jones for almost 40 years,” she teased, scooting into his side. 

“Aye, but you’ll forever be my gorgeous Swan,” he answered, like he always did, his eyes also on the old photos. It was kind of amazing they were still in decent shape.

“Well then, I’m thinking that we looked damn hot,” Emma finally said. 

“Indeed we did. Though you still do,” he added, kissing her cheek.

“So do you, silver fox. You still got that shirt?” 

“That ugly thing? Heavens no.” He sounded genuinely offended—although he never quite learned how to fully button his shirt, and she cast a glance at the silvery chest hair exposed by his v-necked shirt today. “But I might be able to come up with something similar...if you still have that jumpsuit,” he said, leering seductively. 

Emma just laughed. “It’s cute that you think I’d still fit into that after two more kids and a few decades. And that was Ruby’s anyways.” Some parts of her had never quite recovered from having Hope and then Alice in fairly quick succession, but it didn’t matter to Killian so she’d never minded much.

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to wear nothing,” he purred. “I seem to remember that being part of that night, too.” 

“Only if you wear the same.”

“As you wish.”

(He had indeed read  _ The Princess Bride _ , it turned out, and they had excitedly taken Henry to the movie when it was first released; their VHS copy was later worn down by the girls, once they were old enough.)

Some days, it was hard to believe they’d been together for over 40 years—time flies while having fun, and all that. There’d been great ones and hard ones and plenty of just average ones in there. They weren’t the same people they were when they met; hell, they weren’t even the same as when Alice moved out ten years ago.

But some things had never changed, and never would; for one, how easily and amazingly they were able to satisfy each other physically, and how well they fit together, especially when they were cuddled close, sated.

The most important, though, was their love.


End file.
